


Welcome to Blockult Castle

by telleroftynesidetales



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:22:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25078330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telleroftynesidetales/pseuds/telleroftynesidetales
Summary: When the ancient Blockult Castle rises from beneath the waves, trouble is on the horizon. Blaise now finds himself in a meeting with the most sinister wizard to have ever lived: Lord Voldemort.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Welcome to Blockult Castle

“That’s a nasty break you have there, dear. It looks like something more than a simple mishap in quidditch, but two teaspoons of Skele-Gro should do the trick. Try to relax, and I’ll check on you in an hour.”

A veteran healer, Madam Pomfrey had been suspicious of the cause of Blaise’s injury. Nevertheless, she served him the awful-tasting potion and left him to rest. Reclining, he feigned several yawns until her footsteps were but faint one-two taps in the distance. Certain she was gone, the sly wizard sat up and fished into the inner pocket of his robe.

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead; this is the perfect environment for me to pour my thoughts out and speak on what’s happening,” Blaise said.

The off-white sheets of the hospital wing’s beds were freshly laundered, and smelled like a mix of pine and tea tree oil. New blockades of smooth masonry fortified the walls. Bedpans, stacked neatly in a corner beside the double-doored entrance, were sparkling clean. 

Blaise sat on the edge of the longest bed, using his wand to compose a note in emerald-green ink. The complete absence of other patients afforded him an assumption of utter privacy. 

“Angie, I hope you’re well. Things at Hogwarts are grim, as I’m sure you know,” he wrote, waving his wand to write cursive letters onto a piece of hippogriff parchment. “There’s loads for me to tell you, cousin, so I pray you’ve got time to read everything.” 

Focused on informing Angelina of his continued progression in the Dark Arts, Blaise lost himself in a self-aggrandizing résumé. He ranted about his mastery of Sectumsempra, and about his sinister achievement of discovering how to create a Horcrux. He had not realized that the room was no longer empty until it was too late.

“Petrificus Totalus!”

Blaise heard the deadly curse’s incantation and instantly knew who casted it: Bellatrix Lestrange. A blast of pale light hit his chest and he went rigid, crashing to the springy mattress. Still wearing her low-cut black lace gown from the previous night’s escapade, the madwoman stood over him.

“Cheeky little one, aren’t you,” she taunted, slinging the petrified body of Madam Pomfrey across the floor’s gray and tan stones. “I told you that I’m your doctor, and the cast was to stay on ‘til I saw fit. Boys who don’t listen deserve punishment. Maybe I’ll break your other wrist.”

Bellatrix’s heavy-lidded eyes glanced down at the halfway finished note. Plucking it from Blaise’s stiff left hand, she scanned the text line by line. Her crimson painted lips sloped to form an expression of disgust.  


“You’ve no couth, gloating about such trivial rubbish. I really should whip you. Alas, there are more pressing issues to be handled.”

Bellatrix tore the parchment in half, snickering as the portions rained upon Blaise’s face. Walking toward an open window, she gazed at a cluster of storm clouds. The fluffy, vaporous masses were lit by a deep orange glow. Contorting, they gave way to a black metal chariot that was pulled by a one-winged thestral.

“Consider yourself lucky. Few are blessed to have an audience with the Dark Lord,” she said, peeking over her right shoulder. “We will meet him at Blockult Castle. You will do your best not to embarrass me, unless you want tragedy to befall your cousin. I can and will find her if I need to.”

The chariot eased up to the windowsill, its door unlocking automatically and revealing the handler to be a gnome wearing an eye patch. With a flick and swish of her wand, Bellatrix levitated Blaise’s body into the ghoulish vehicle.

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________  
Rain drizzled. Sharp winds nipped at Blaise’s cheeks. His paralysis had worn off five minutes into the airborne transit, yet he did not move. Fear of his psychotic chaperone did not allow for movement. Bellatrix sat across from him, her cleavage wet with raindrops. The moisture added an extra bit of frizz to her sable curls, and caused the patch of white to bush. Two coarse strands fell over her eyes, multiplying the intimidation the violent vixen exuded. She refused to talk, ignoring the chariot handler’s praise of the Black family name.

They flew over the Loch Ness and landed in a broadleaf woodland. 

“Have a great afternoon, Lady Bella. You, too, young man. Best of luck to you and your chums at Hogwarts,” said the chariot handler.

Bellatrix exited first. Pushing the cascading hair out of her line of vision, she carelessly crushed a woodpecker egg beneath her spiked slippers. Seemingly sensing an immediate danger, badgers and red squirrels sought refuge behind the farthest trees. 

“Cheers,” Blaise replied, sliding off his seat and onto a patch of yellow wildflowers. “Safe travels.”

After the chariot disappeared beyond the clouds, Bellatrix began drawing invisible circles with her wand. She then muttered what sounded like a mishmash of Latin and Sumerian. Blaise studied her curiously, unsure of what was transpiring. 

Suddenly, the earth shook and a castle arose from a still lake. Positioned on top of the water, it was a grand expanse of timber. The outer walls were sixty feet tall on all sides, and enclosed by snow-capped obelisks. Flagpoles were fastened to the castle’s keep, their silk fabrics proudly depicting a python-wrapped knight helmet.

“That was an extravagant reveal. Isn’t there a chance that some Muggles might see us entering,” asked Blaise.

Sauntering up to the oaken door, Bellatrix tapped its angel-faced knocker exactly six times. “The Blockults placed far too many enchantments here for that to happen. You and I passed the barrier because of our blood purity.” 

“We might be more alike than you initially suspected,” Blaise giggled, joining her at the doorstep. 

“Mind your tongue, boy,” admonished Bellatrix, placing a finger to his plump lips. “I am tired of you brazenly celebrating yourself, when you have done nothing I didn’t do at your age.”

The castle’s door opened by sliding upward. Massive bronze sculptures of Swedish Short-Snout dragons dominated the first level. Nude house elves scrubbed the wings with miniature toothbrushes. Layers of ivory composed the floor, and produced sounds akin to simmering water when trod upon. 

A wide, spiraling staircase of twisted rocks sat between two cloaked figures.

“Dementors,” Blaise whispered.

Bellatrix latched her icy, moist hand onto the back of his neck. “Scared, are you? Not to worry; mummy will protect you.”

She marched him up the steps, snickering as those wraithlike creatures attempted to drain his very soul of happiness. Their rattling breaths terrorized him. Chest tightening, he closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. 

Nausea crept into his stomach. Dizzy, he fought to remain upright. The journey to the top was thirty seconds of hell, yet he persevered.

“Who would keep such vile things in their home,” groaned an angry Blaise, leaning on the handrail for support.

“They would’ve done much worse if I weren’t here,” Bellatrix claimed. “Dementors aren’t too fond of what I can do. If you don’t remember anything else I tell you, remember this: even death may die.”

“That doesn’t tell me what kind of people would happily keep them on standby,” said Blaise. 

Bellatrix turned away from him, venturing into the hallway’s gaping mouth. “You’ll learn soon enough. Follow me.”

Blaise trailed behind her, watching her supple backside waggle underneath the damp material of that gown. Uncertain of whether or not she could somehow see him, he switched his attention to the glass floor. 

Baby dolphins swam to and fro, locked in the confines of a hybrid floor-tank. Blaise examined their facial expressions, noting that the lowness of their eyes conveyed a feeling of suffering.

“Everything just gets more and more depressing,” he said, oblivious to how far they had progressed. 

When Blaise looked up, he noticed there were enormous libraries on either side of him. The books were as thick as encyclopedias, and had spines that were marked with shiny bloodstains. Straight ahead, Bellatrix stood in a doorway lit by green-flamed goblets.

“Enter and kneel. Speak only when spoken to,” she murmured.

Head bowed, Blaise chose not to inspect the room’s décor. He descended to one knee, his cheek all but touching Bellatrix’s thigh. 

“My Lord, I have returned with the one you wished to meet.”

“You’ve exceeded my expectations, Bella. I did not expect you to return before nightfall. Have our new friend stand so I may talk to him face to face. This could be one of my most memorable occasions.”  


Blaise processed the second speaker’s response and gulped. There was an aura of malice exuding from the voice’s syllables. The words it spoke that ended in “s” sounded like they were uttered by a fork-tongued demon. 

Bellatrix stroked the nape of Blaise’s neck, a silent order for him to rise. He did so, familiarizing himself with the dreadful interior. Moving portraits hovered, showcasing wizards and witches of the Victorian era torturing human slaves. Double-edged swords hung on the ashlar walls, and in the center of the beam ceiling, above a rosewood table where six individuals sat, was a bloodied candelabra made of cracked skulls.  


Dressed in matching black suits and dresses, Blaise recognized a majority of those in attendance. The Malfoys were on the right, along with Professor Carrow. One young woman had the left all to herself. Her auburn-brown hair was tied into French braids. Wearing nylon opera gloves, she rocked a newborn fire-breathing warthog to sleep. Her piercing grey-blue eyes were dead set on Draco. 

At the head of the table was a bald, anorexic man with chalk-white flesh. He had snake-like slits for nostrils, and his pink lips were extremely chapped. Jade robes enwrapped his lean frame. The black pupils of his eyes were lined vertically, while the actual sclerae were redder than magma. 

“Tell me, scholar: do you know who I am,” the hideous man requested. 

“Yes, sir. You are Lord Voldemort, the greatest sorcerer who ever lived,” answered Blaise, shuddering. 

Voldemort smiled, his long fingers thrumming the edge of the table. “You are indeed correct. I am the standard every wizard and witch across the world will soon strive to reach. I will mentor only the worthy, of which I am told you may be. Amycus raves about your skill. Impress me.”

Professor Carrow winked at Blaise, and pointed at his trembling fist. He had forgotten that his wand remained firmly in his grasp. 

“Hurry, the Dark Lord’s time is precious,” Bellatrix hollered, elbowing him. 

Startled, Blaise stumbled forward.

“Patience, my faithful lieutenant,” mediated Voldemort. “Allow him to concentrate. We mustn’t scare our new recruits too early.”

Taking a deep breath, Blaise recalled his fondest memory. He imagined his mother’s watering eyes the day he received his invitation to Hogwarts. The warmth of her hug recaptured him. He raised his arm and thundered, “Expecto Patronum!”

The tip of Blaise’s wand discharged pearly blue energy that took the shape of a jaguar. Jumping onto the table, his spirit guardian growled at everyone.

“A corporeal Patronus,” Voldemort clapped. “Quite the difficult charm, yes. I could use someone like you in my army. I am curious: what would it take to secure your allegiance?” 

Blaise’s Patronus leapt off the table and lounged at his feet. “I…am not sure, sir.”

“Surely there is something you want badly enough,” Voldemort hinted, momentarily shifting his attention to Bellatrix. “I can give you anything you want. All things are possible through me. Isn’t that true, Jennifer?”

“Convincing my family to join the Dark Lord was a life-changing decision for me. I have everything I ever wanted now,” declared the young woman holding the slumbering hog.

“Jennifer Blockult graduated from Hogwarts a year ago. Her parents, descendants of the vampires that commissioned this castle, supported my cause in secret. They feared their heritage would be exposed and they’d lose their business partnerships,” Voldemort said. “Tell him what I gave you in exchange for their unadulterated loyalty.”

“My prize for bringing them to the Dark Lord’s side is Draco Malfoy,” revealed Jennifer.

Lucius and Narcissa patted their son’s hands to stop him from scratching his nails on the table.

“She and Draco will be married the second the war ends. I granted her wish. I can do the same for you. I know you lust for Bella. She can be yours,” hissed Voldemort. 

“Forgive me, but isn’t she already in a marriage,” Blaise asked.

Voldemort reclined in his chair. “Rodolphus is of no concern to you. She will be free for the taking.” 

Bellatrix opened her mouth as if to protest, but did not speak. 

“She wouldn’t dare dirty the honor of my word,” proclaimed Voldemort.

“Never, my Lord,” Bellatrix submitted, bowing.

“Prove it to anyone in this room who might be a skeptic of your devotion,” ordered Voldemort.

Bellatrix grabbed Blaise’s tie and tugged him so close that her lips brushed against his as she spoke.

“My servitude to the Dark Lord is limitless. Should you do what is required of you, I shall be yours to do with as you please.”

Bellatrix panted in Blaise’s face, the scent of milk chocolate heavy on her breath. His heart thumped loudly. She laughed at his hormone-induced stupor, her bumpy, saliva-drenched tongue jutting out of her mouth to rest on her chin. His Patronus faded. Entranced, Blaise went in for a kiss, but Bellatrix reeled her head back. He had not earned such privileges.

Narcissa scoffed. 

“Is there a problem,” queried Voldemort, twirling his wand.

“No, my Lord. I apologize for my wife; she may be coming down with an illness,” Lucius fabricated.

“For a minute there, I thought she might’ve been trying to stand in the way of true love,” said Voldemort. “I haven’t forgotten how she reacted to me offering Draco to Jennifer as a husband. It would be tragic if I had to use the Cruciatus Curse on her again to change her mind.”

“That won’t be necessary, my Lord. We’ll get her medicine once this meeting’s finished,” Lucius nodded.

“Wonderful. Now then,” snapped Voldemort, redirecting his focus to Blaise. “Do you want to make your fantasies come true?”

Knees shaking, Blaise could not tear his eyes from Bellatrix. “Wha…what do I have to do?”

“Forge new friendships at your school. Use them to find tips on where Harry Potter might be. Gain their trust, someone knows where the boy’s gone,” Voldemort explained. 

Blaise remembered the promise between himself and Angelina. The Unbreakable Vow swore him to guard his mother and her father when the final battle occurred. Professor McGonagall’s mandate of protection beckoned him to decline membership. Hannah Abbott’s possible romantic interest in him called for serious consideration of choices. His lust, however, was all-consuming.

“Gladly.”

“Then take your leave with Bella. I’m sure you’ll enjoy cozying up to her on the path back to Hogwarts,” dismissed Voldemort, nibbling the base of his wand.

Bellatrix took Blaise's hand in her own, and led him out of the room.

“Hopefully they can honeymoon with Draco and I in Maldives,” Jennifer said mockingly to Narcissa.


End file.
